


Close for comfort

by Gem_Gem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry John, Attempt at humour, F/M, Fetish Clothing, Fluff, Holding Hands, Jealous Sherlock, Kissing, Love Bites, M/M, Original Female Character not in it long, Platonic Kissing, Sex Toys, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Slight Spanking, Surprise Kissing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-17 16:57:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4674368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After another disastrous meet and greet between his girlfriend and his flatmate, John's relationship ends and John asks something of Sherlock that is completely insane and wrong but which feels so right. Sherlock agrees.</p><p>"You’re not lonely. I’m here."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ludicrous

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back from holiday (early) and before I get back to the stories I have to update, I updated another story I had written a while ago and never continued.
> 
> Hope you like it. Let me know!

John nervously led Samantha up the stairs to the flat, glared at the door and set his jaw determinedly, “Now, as I said, my flatmate can be—”

“It’s okay, John,” Samantha laughed, curling her arm around his and leaning into his side, her bust soft and warm and heavenly against his bicep. “I know, already! I’ve read the blog, seen the comments, I think I can handle him.”

“I know, I know…but still, don’t take what he says to heart. If he over steps the line, I’ll reprimand him instantly, I swear, but he’s going to go off on one regardless and if it upsets you then we can just leave and—”

“John!” Samantha sighed with a smile and cupped his face, kissing him and tasting of strawberries. “It’s fine. I can deal with whatever he throws at me. I have two kids.”

John nodded, smiled, took a deep and uneven breath, and opened the door to the flat, looking around, “Sherlock?” he called and gestured for Samantha to enter and take a seat as he hoped to God that Sherlock was out again. 

“John!” Sherlock snapped, striding out of his bedroom with his dressing gown flying out behind him theatrically, like an elegant cape. “How many more times must I ask you to—Oh. No. No, John. Another one? Really? So soon after the other? What was the name of the last one again? Jules? Julie?”

John smiled tightly and lifted his eyebrows, “Don’t, Sherlock, just don’t…this is Samantha, Samantha is—”

“A thirty-nine year old hairdresser with three children from two different men, one cat, two dogs, six goldfish, and a gambling problem,” Sherlock shot off in a rush of breath, flashing her a supercilious smile that dropped when he looked back at John. “Dump her. She’s using you.”

“Excuse me?” Samantha scoffed with a disbelieving flutter of her eyes as she got back to her feet and moved to stand just behind John.

“You’re excused,” Sherlock replied.

“Sherlock—!”

“I have two kids, not three, and I don’t have a gambling problem!” Samantha argued, hands on her hips.

Sherlock snorted, “That’s the most important thing you’re worried about? Nothing about the comment about you using John? Fantastic. Well done.” Sherlock turned back to John, ignoring her scowl. “Where’ve you been? I was calling for you for ages.” 

“I went out, I told you that I was going out—and what do you mean? You can’t just say that to her, Sherlock!” John exclaimed with a furrowed brow and looking back and forth, confused and torn between confronting Samantha and sticking up for her. 

“Do you always have to leave when I need you?” Sherlock huffed, looking and acting petulant.

Samantha folded her arms, “Excuse me, Mr Holmes—!”

“Oh, go away!” Sherlock interrupted irritably, waving an arm at her as if she were nothing more than a fly buzzing around his face. “Go back to your children and your scratch cards!”

“I do not have a gambling problem!” She shouted.

Sherlock sighed deeply and glanced at John, “She does, and she does have three children— granted she’s pregnant with the third presently, but it counts— and she really is using you.”

“Sherlock, you can’t know that…” John said weakly, rubbing his eyes and then scratching the back of his neck, unable to look back at Samantha as his face heated and resentment bubbled in his gut.

“Dear lord—there’s a positive pregnancy test in her bag, along with not one, not two, not even three, but fifty scratch cards, and I know she’s using you because firstly; she’s pregnant, five weeks, the same length of time you’ve been dating her, yes? Secondly; the wallpaper on her horrid golden iPhone is the person whose baby she’s carrying.”

John looked over just in time to see Samantha rummage into her bag to turn off her phone screen and Sherlock stepped between them, pointing to the door rudely with a sneer and narrowed eyes, “Out.”

“How dare you!” Samantha seethed, swinging her hand back to slap him but gaping in frustration when Sherlock caught her wrist and all but dragged her by it to the door, shutting it in her face with a flourish and a cheery wave.

John stood with his mouth slightly agape, his fingers flexing and one eye twitching, “Was she really—?”

Sherlock sighed and nodded, “Yes. I hope this has taught you never to get into a relationship with a woman with children. Too much baggage—Now, back to the matter at hand—”

“For heavens sake, what is wrong with me?” John muttered with a hand scrubbing roughly across his forehead as anger flared and crawled like an army of ants up his spine, prickling his skin and leaving a burning heat in its wake. He turned and kicked over a chair, righting it with a loud, angered but defeated sigh when Sherlock lifted his brow and then frowned. 

The front door slammed shut to indicate Samantha’s dramatic exit and Sherlock rolled his eyes, “She’s the one cheating and you’re asking what’s wrong with you? Clearly there’s something wrong with her, John. You’re perfectly fine. She’s a dim-witted, deluded hussy who can’t keep her legs closed. You deserve better and…whatever else people say in situations like this.” 

John looked at Sherlock and then walked to the window to watch Samantha as she stormed down the pavement, already on her phone, “She’s texting me to break up with me,” John murmured impassively and pulled out his mobile just as it chimed. “Yep. There it is.”

Sherlock pulled him away from the window looking overly bothered, “Good riddance.”

“I’m lonely,” John unexpectedly told Sherlock as he wrenched out of Sherlock’s grasp and paced angrily around the living room and through the kitchen, filling the kettle only to throw it aside. “I’m lonely and I’m desperate. That’s why. That’s why this is constantly happening—If the women I date aren’t clingy and riddled with issues, they’re cheating on me. I’m so bloody lonely and eager for affection that I just settle with whatever happens to walk by. And then I’m actually shocked when things turn out like this. I’m an idiot. I don’t know why I bother. I really don’t. What is the point?”

“Lonely?” Sherlock echoed as he moved to stand behind John with a look of pure confusion. “How can you be lonely? You’re not lonely. I’m here. You’re never lonely.”

John turned around furiously, something on the tip of his tongue and the prickling of frustrated anger overflowing down his head and chest, making his vision pulse, but he paused, held back his words, and stared up at Sherlock for such a long time that Sherlock glanced around the kitchen somewhat awkwardly and shifted his weight. John clenched his jaw, loosened his fingers, took several deep and steadying breaths, and then nodded with determination, stepping toward Sherlock with an expression that made Sherlock take a step back and hold up one hand hesitantly.

“You want me to stop dating,” John mumbled as he took another step toward Sherlock, “Right?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied slowly, taking another step back. “Yes, but…John—”

“You don’t want me to leave. Right? You always want me. You always want my attention. You don’t want me to meet women. You even deliberately sabotage my relationships once I’m in one. Yeah?”

“Married to my work,” Sherlock stated seriously as he signalled to himself and took yet another step back, motioning to John after with a condescending grin. “Not gay.”

John nodded shortly and took yet another step toward him, “Yeah.”

Sherlock swallowed and John watched the bob of his Adam’s apple, “You’re obviously not thinking clearly. This little mishap has hurt and angered you. You obviously liked her, for reasons I can’t begin to understand, but I won’t apologise for what I did, I won’t lie to you, John. I won’t stand by and let another woman use you so easily. Quite frankly I’m sick of it. You should really learn how to observe the tells, John, you should pay attention and not let—”

John covered the remaining distance in two short strides and reached out, tugging Sherlock down by his dressing gown slowly. Sherlock resisted at first and pressed his lips together with a glare, but gave in to John’s pull and let John press their mouths together for a very brief and dry kiss. They kissed with their eyes open, and John stared into Sherlock, picking out the layers of colours within his irises and the shifting of his pupil as he tried to focus on John in return. Sherlock’s mouth was definitely male and firmer than it looked, outlined by faint stubble and barely pursed, half responding to the extremely light caress of John’s kiss. It was unsurprisingly nothing like kissing the soft stretch of Samantha’s mouth, nor any other woman, but the burst of contact was somehow enough to sooth the ache of loneliness, upset and antagonism. 

When John stepped back and let him go, Sherlock sighed with annoyance and straightened, “John. You’re not gay,” he said, trying to lighten the mood with a soft smile that quirked one side of his mouth up. “You can’t force yourself to be anything other than yourself. In fact, what you just did was probably the stupidest thing you could have done—”

John pulled him into another kiss without warning, slipped his tongue past Sherlock’s parted lips and leaned into him before Sherlock tensed and jerked back, almost tripping over his own feet, his eyes wide with surprise. The taste of Sherlock was thick and terrifying, tinting John’s mouth and chasing away the memory of strawberries.

John flushed and retreated, “I…I’m sorry.”

Sherlock touched his mouth and then dropped his hand, “It’s all right. I was just—”

“I want to ask something of you,” John said as his entire mouth tingled, his mind on fire with a mass of jumbled thoughts, reactions and emotions. Everything was screaming at him to run away, to lock himself into his room and to beg Sherlock to forget it ever happened.

“John, you…” Sherlock trailed off into silence, righted his dressing gown and then exhaled gently when he flickered his eyes over John’s face, hands and chest. “No.”

John carried on regardless, “If I don’t get the affection I crave, that I…I need, then will you allow me to kiss you? Just a kiss. Just one. Just to…to feel something.”

Sherlock shook his head and scoffed, following John when John began to pace again, “Listen to what you’re saying, John—Has that woman’s stunt affected you so much, that you think it’s a good idea to kiss your male friend and flatmate whenever you need human contact? John…John, you cannot be serious. This will only add to your problems. You do not kiss men. You do not kiss me. You don’t need to kiss me.” 

“Well, I did and apparently I do. It helped,” John admitted, not looking at Sherlock. “Knowing you care for me…and kissing you, even if it was such a short kiss, it helped. I know it’s insane. It’s completely ludicrous. I know. I’m already panicking over what I just bloody did to you—”

Sherlock nodded and motioned to him, “I know that. So what makes you think that this senseless idea will—?”

“I need something,” John stated heatedly. “Like you need a good murder, or a puzzle to solve, or a packet of bloody cigarettes; I need affection, I need human contact, I need sex!”

“I’m not giving you that,” Sherlock said after a moment of silence, wrinkling his nose somewhat comically. “John, you’re acting irrationally!”

“I know that,” John muttered and turned to look at Sherlock with intent. “You chase away my girlfriends, my dates, and any potential women in my life. You’re jealous. You’re controlling. You’re possessive. You want to keep me and forever have my attention—well; this is how you get it. You supply me with what I want, what I need, and I, in return, supply you with what you need.” 

Sherlock gawked at him, like John had suddenly sprouted two heads, and squinted deeply, “…Did she drug you?”

John cupped his face, “It doesn’t have to be anything more than a private…deal, between us. No one has to know—or you could stop interfering and let me enjoy having a girlfriend like a normal person.”

“You’re angry if I don’t say anything but you’re angry when I do,” Sherlock complained, covering John’s hands with his. “Are you sure she didn’t drug you? She seemed the type.”

“A kiss a day,” John whispered with his mouth suddenly inches away from Sherlock’s and his eyes zeroing on the abrupt blotching of colour on Sherlock’s face even as Sherlock rolled his eyes and regarded John with an impassive gaze. “Or…not even that. A hug. Some sort of affection. Or you could help me find a girlfriend who isn’t a cheater?”

Sherlock pulled John’s hands away and stepped back, “Have you done this before?”

“No,” John sighed, running his left hand through his hair twice as he turned his back to Sherlock. “Not like this. Not with a bloke—I helped a few men in Afghanistan. Held them close if they were…were dying or…or needed some sort of comfort. But nothing like this. That was the first time I’ve kissed another man on the lips before, actually.” 

“Glad to be of service then,” Sherlock intoned as he strode away back into his bedroom, dressing gown once more billowing out behind him in a trail of rippling blue.

John glanced over to watch him leave and then fell into his chair, covering his face and only getting back up and following Sherlock after an hour of thought. Sherlock was sitting cross-legged on his bed with his laptop at his left knee and a dismantled radio spread out around him like a circle of protection. He looked at John and straightened, pushed back his shoulders and lifted his chin.

“I’m sorry,” John started, shifting his arms loosely at his sides. “Let’s forget about it. I wasn’t thinking. I don’t even know what was going on in my head. Nothing good, that’s for sure…”

Sherlock nodded and then looked away for a moment, pursing his mouth in thought, “I’ll do it.”

John blinked and then frowned, shaking his head quickly, “No. No, it’s okay. I don’t want it. I don’t know why I even suggested it in the first place—You’re right. I’m not gay. I’m not interested in anything like that from another bloke, especially one that’s my friend…all these bad relationships have just messed with my head a little. I’m sorry. Let’s ignore everything I said and…and did, and get back to normal.”

“Normal. Dull,” Sherlock muttered, turning to his laptop. “We were never normal, John, and we never will be.”

“No. No, I suppose not,” John huffed with a laugh.

“I’ll still do it,” Sherlock affirmed, head bowed as he inspected a component of the radio. “If you need it.”

“I won’t, but…thanks,” John said and cleared his throat, watching Sherlock for a few minutes and then nodding randomly and leaving. His lips were still tingling and he touched them, and then rubbed them roughly, clearing his throat once more as he set about making tea to distract his racing mind.

He brought the tea into Sherlock and placed one mug on the bedside table with a soft smile, and Sherlock glanced at him briefly and then patted the side of his bed with the least amount of radio parts on it. John sat slowly and watched Sherlock’s oil slicked fingers shift, shocked when Sherlock reached out with one hand and entwined it with John’s gently. The touch confused John for a moment and then eased and soothed the bunched muscles of his shoulders, calming the tight feeling in his chest.

“You could date, Molly?” Sherlock randomly suggested. “You two have things in common.”

John took a sip of tea and cocked his head, “Like?”

“You both idolise me.” Sherlock said with a quirk of his mouth and a playful glance in John’s direction. 

John arched his eyebrow and laughed shortly, shaking his head in the next second, “Yeah, well, I don’t see, Molly, that way. Anyway, I think Lestrade has his eye on her.”

Sherlock lifted his head and turned to stare at John, “Lestrade likes Molly?”

“Yeah, I think so,” John shrugged, enjoying holding Sherlock’s hand more than he cared to admit. “He gives her that look.”

“What look?”

“That I-wouldn’t-mind-seeing-you-naked look,” John laughed with a grin.

Sherlock inclined his head with an expression of amusement, “So that’s what that was. I thought he was just constipated.”

John choked on his next gulp of tea and put down his mug to giggle into his palm, bending close to Sherlock who beamed at John and joined in with John’s laughter with rumbling chuckles of his own, his hand still encasing John’s and his head tipped close enough toward John’s that he brushed John’s forehead with his fringe, surrounding him with the smell of oil, chemicals, spicy cologne and Sherlock’s own scent.


	2. Love Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John tensed in disbelief and looked up with a puzzled smile when Sherlock walked passed and clumsily ruffled his long fingers through John’s short hair. Sherlock glanced at him, smiled back, and pulled a packet of love heart sweets from his pocket, throwing them to John.

“The woman in the shop told me it would be “cute,”” Sherlock told him as he sat down in his chair and leaned his chin on his upturned hand with a curious expression. “They have affectionate and humorous quotes and phrases on them, apparently.” 

“Um. Yeah,” John said with a soft puff of laughter as he looked down at the sweets. “Yeah, they do. Uh, thanks.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes with a loud and sharp sigh and leaned forward, “Go on then. Have one. Tell me what it says. I’m intrigued.”

“Why didn’t you buy a packet for yourself then?” John asked as he opened it and tried not to beam at Sherlock in a swell of fondness as the sickly scented scent filled his nose, and reminded him of the fact that he’d not actually tasted the sweets before, even though he knew what they were and had bought them for people in the past. He huffed and glanced down at the first sweet with a flush, rubbing some of the pastel-like dust into his skin. 

“Well?”

“Marry me.” John muttered, turning the sweet over between his fingers and sneaking a glance at Sherlock to find him looking aghast and shocked. “No! No, no—that’s what the sweet says.”

Sherlock nodded slowly and shifted in his chair, “I see…and the next one?”

John frowned but pulled out the next, “You’re Mine.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows arched upward in entertainment and he grinned, motioning to the packet with a few fingers, “And the next?”

“I’m not going to read out each and every sweet, Sherlock,” John told him with a resigned sigh as he peered at the one after and looked up at Sherlock with a small smile. “Let’s Dance.”

“Finally,” Sherlock exclaimed and jumped back to his feet, smoothing out his shirt and rolling up his sleeves as he walked over to where John was sitting. “Something I can do—Come on then.”

John stared at Sherlock when he outstretched his hand and then shook his head, “No—”

Sherlock dropped his hand in frustration and then reached down and hauled John up a tad roughly, stepping back when John struggled aside, dropping the sweets to his chair, “Dance with me. I know that you know how to dance, John, you must do—anyway, that’s affectionate, isn’t it? Dancing?”

“Even though I clearly told you to forget about that…stupid affection suggestion yesterday and told you that I won’t need anything from you because I was a little messed up after so many bad relationships and it was screwing with my head…I’d rather just have a… a kiss or…a hug or something,” John mumbled and scratched his brow awkwardly, then took Sherlock’s hand with a sigh when it was offered again impatiently. “I can’t dance, Sherlock. Not well.”

“Nonsense,” Sherlock muttered as he pushed things out of his way with his foot without care. “You dance all the time.”

“Um…no, no I don’t.”

Sherlock glanced back at him as he picked up his laptop and gave John a look of irritation, “I see you.”

John frowned and glanced down at their hands that were still very much intertwined, “…You see me? See me…dancing? When?”

“When you wash the dishes mostly,” Sherlock replied with a shrug as he cycled through music tracks and chose one with a smile and a dramatic flourish, turning up the volume and pulling John close. “We’ll Waltz. You lead.” 

“Sherlock, can’t we just…cuddle?” John grumbled under his breath, wondering how he’d gotten where he was, and why he still wasn’t more flustered and panicked about the change that he had brought upon himself, as Sherlock manhandled him into position and glowered with a sour look, pushing John’s hand to his waist. “I’d much prefer to cuddle. Or hold…hands more.”

“We’ll be holding hands whilst we dance,” Sherlock told him as he toed John’s legs sharply, digging the end of his big toe into John’s shin. “Stand properly—No, properly I said. John, for goodness sake, where has your posture gone? Straighten up. No, straighten up! Shoulders back, John!—Are you doing this just to annoy me?”

“A little,” John grinned, patting Sherlock’s waist warmly. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop. Let’s dance—why are we dancing anyway? Just because of the sweet? We doing everything according to what’s written on the sweets or something?”

Sherlock inclined his head and shuffled closer, “Yes. I thought it would be…nice, if I did what the sweets said. Although, I realise now that it might have been a terrible idea on my part, given that I had no clue of the phrases that might be picked nor the rough percentage of said phrases that may be found in each packet—Why are you laughing?”

“Why are you doing this?” John asked with a faint smile. “I told you I don’t need this, Sherlock. It’s…good, very good, that you want to help me, but I was obviously out of my mind yesterday so…what do you want? What do you get out of this by the end of it?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock said a little too innocently as he began moving with John around the room, peering into John’s face. “Don’t look at your feet, look at me. You know how to Waltz, John. Practically everyone does.”

John sighed and trod purposely on Sherlock’s bare toes, “This has something to do with what I said, hasn’t it? About you giving me what I need so I can supply you with what you need?”

“Is that what you said?” Sherlock replied as he shook John in impatience. “No! No, you lead me! Lead me, John. Pretend I’m one of your annoying, tedious, smelly girlfriends.”

“Smelly?” John frowned. “None of the women I dated were smelly, Sherlock.”

Sherlock nodded mockingly, “I’m afraid they were. The last one was definitely smelly.” 

“You mean you didn’t like her perfume?” John asked, though he really didn’t want to think about Samantha. “How can you not like female perfumes but you are fine with the thick aroma of rotting flesh, sulpha and mould?”

Sherlock smirked at him and then scowled when John stepped on his foot again, “You’re doing this on purpose, and I don’t like it.”

John chuckled and lifted his hands, “I’m not. I told you, I’m not that good at dancing, whether it’s the Waltz or the bloody Samba, I have two left feet.”

“Fine,” Sherlock said grumpily as he stepped back and turned off the music. “Pick another sweet.”

“Can’t I just hug you?” John sighed with a blush and an uneasy flip in his stomach. “If you really want to…to…provide me with affection then hugging is a brilliant way to do so.”

“No.”

Picking up the packet again with a deep sigh, John piled the three he had already chosen into his mouth, “Mm. They taste quite nice. Do you want one?”

“No. I bought them for you,” Sherlock told him, ushering John on with an impatient look as he folded his arms, obviously sulking and displeased with not getting his way.

“U Rock,” John read aloud with an expanding grin, holding it out to Sherlock. “That’s for you, because you do indeed rock—Go on, take it. They taste good and you love sweet stuff.”

“But I bought them for—”

“I’m sharing them with you,” John insisted, happy when Sherlock took the sweet, inspected it closely, and then popped it into his mouth. “Good? Good. Right, the next one says…Hot Lips. Heh, well, that’s for you as well. Here—Ah-ha! This one says Hold Me. Right. Finally. That’s a good one. Come on, hold me.”

Sherlock crunched down on the second sweet that John passed him and then moved forward to wrap his arms awkwardly around John’s shoulders without objection, pressing close and snatching at the packet, turning it to read the label more thoroughly, “These are good, actually,” he admitted in a low mumble as he chewed. “What’s in them?— Sugar, Acidity Regulators: Malic Acid, Tartaric Acid; sodium bicarbonate, stearic acid, Modified starch, E470b, Anti-Caking Agent: Magnesium Carbonate; Flavourings, Colours: E100 (turmeric or curcumin), E104 (Quinoline Yellow WS), E110 (Sunset Yellow FCF), E122 (Azorubine), E124 (Ponceau 4R), E129 (Allura Red AC), E132 (Indigo carmine), and Elderberry Extract. Hm.”

“Less reading and talking and more holding,” John said as he encircled Sherlock’s waist with his arms tightly, pushing his face high into Sherlock’s chest. It instantly had the same effect as kissing him and holding his hand had, and John relaxed into Sherlock as the contact soothed and calmed him, comforting him even as he felt a short, sharp jolt of panic and confusion in his gut at liking it as much as he did. Sherlock smelt strongly of the outside, his personal scent and heat, and John inhaled deeply but silently, turning his head aside to peer at how Sherlock’s jaw worked as he ate.

“These are much better than heart shaped chocolates,” Sherlock muttered as he sniffed the packet and rubbed the fine dust from the sweets between his fingers. “They’re quite addicting—can I have another?”

John shrugged and tightened his hold a little more, “Knock yourself out.”

“I’ll have three,” Sherlock said under his breath as he fumbled with the packet and frowned, tugging three coloured tablets out into his palm to read them one by one. “Wild Thing, Angel Face and…Blue Eyes—Who thinks of these?”

“What would you put on them, then?” John asked, watching Sherlock slip the first and second sweets into his mouth, and then impulsively cupped Sherlock’s neck to bring him down into a kiss that Sherlock refused to return until John prised his lips open with his tongue, tasting the fruity flavours of the two sweets mixed together amongst Sherlock’s teeth.

The effects of the kiss surged through John strongly, dampening the twinges of embarrassment, panic and confusion, and John closed his eyes contentedly. Sherlock dropped his arms from around John uneasily and fidgeted, but did not pull away and allowed John to kiss him a little deeper and harder, their lips wetly shifting against one another with one of the most sensual sounds that John had recently been subject to hearing.

Sherlock detached their mouths with a quivering breath and a hard swallow, coughing slightly, “So much for you saying you won’t need it.”

“Yeah, that was before you bought me love heart sweets and tried to dance with me,” John said and urged Sherlock back for another kiss, trapping Sherlock’s bottom lip lightly between his teeth. “And I did suggest a kiss a day, so…this is for today.”

“You’ve technically kissed me twice,” Sherlock corrected, eyes looking darker than they had before but his mouth tensing in disapproval. “Also, I bought you them because I agreed to give you want you need, remember? You wanted “some sort of affection” so I thought I’d oblige you—and the woman in the shop said that it would be cute in an “affectionate” way, so I assumed that it would—”

John reached over to Sherlock’s laptop, turned the music back on and pulled Sherlock against him with a cheeky grin, “I’ll oblige you then.”

Sherlock’s mouth quirked, “By dancing with me? Something I only did because of the sweets that I bought for you?”

“You want to dance, I can tell,” John told him knowingly, leading him clumsily around the space between their chairs with a stifled giggle at Sherlock’s overly amused face. “You dance a lot too, you know… I see you.” 

Sherlock’s smile broadened until his eyes crinkled, “You see me dancing? When?”

“When you think no ones watching mostly,” John replied with a cheeky expression, spinning Sherlock cumbersomely and almost falling to the ground with him when he tripped over John’s foot. “Shit, sorry!”

“Maybe I should lead,” Sherlock teased as he straightened up, smoothed down his shirt, and offered the last sweet that he had been nimbly clutching between his fingers. “Here, you can have it.”

John took it and motioned towards Sherlock’s eyes, “You’re the one with blue in his eyes,” he muttered, biting the sweet in half messily and then lifting the crumbling pieces to Sherlock’s mouth meaningfully, arching his eyebrow until Sherlock relented and parted his lips with a sweep of his tongue that shot a spark of lust up John’s spine, momentarily blinding him.

“What?” Sherlock frowned as he crunched noisily, cocking his head aside with a narrowed gaze and then shaking his head. “No more kissing.”

“Why not?” John asked a little breathy, and cleared his throat. 

Sherlock shook his head again instead of answering and then spread his hands, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Dancing.”

“Oh. Yeah,” John smiled, allowing Sherlock take hold of him again and take the lead, still treading on his toes as they began to move about the room. “Just don’t bloody well dip me.”

“I wasn’t going to until you just brought it up,” Sherlock said with the faintest glance in John direction before he span John around and dipped him, bending John over his arm so low down that John’s hair touched the carpet before he scrambled at Sherlock’s arms and was pulled back up. “That was quite graceful, John. Well done.”

“Shut it, you git! Never do that again,” John exclaimed with a bubble of laughter at Sherlock impish face.


	3. Sex Toys

Sherlock rounded the corner after he had been gone for the entire morning and John frowned and watched Sherlock dump a large box in front of him on the kitchen table, as well as a black and pink bag behind it, obscured from John’s view, and John swallowed his mouthful of soup to motion at it with his spoon in question.

“What’s that?”

Sherlock grabbed a knife, juggled it precariously and sliced the box open with elegant and deft actions, “A package.”

John rolled his eyes and put the spoon back into the bowl, reaching for his mug of tea, “Yes, but what’s inside it? What did you buy?—Did that just come today, I didn’t hear the door go? Where were you this morning?”

“I went to Ann Summers—”

John spluttered, coughed and spat out a whole mouthful of tea over himself, “You…what?”

“—and yes, this did just come today, right on schedule, in fact. Just as I got back, which was brilliant timing if I do say so myself.”

“You went to Ann Summers? The sex shop? You went there?—Why? Why, Sherlock?” John coughed, mopping his chin, hand, the mug and the table with a nearby dishtowel. “What on earth could you want from that place? Or don’t I want to know? I probably don’t want to know, right?”

Sherlock moved the black and pink bag with the shop logo printed on it to the side, in clear view, and then rummaged through the opened box, “I’ve thought about what you said, about you needing sex as well as affection and human contact; and because I can’t give you what you need concerning that, I bought you some little trinkets to get that out of your system whenever you needed.”

John huffed awkwardly, “Little trinkets?”

“All right, big trinkets.”

“Oh God…” John muttered, craning his neck to peek inside the box in inquisitiveness despite the cringe worthy twisting in his gut, and then reached for the bag cautiously and tugged it over to his side. “So…you’re saying you bought me a box, and a bag, full of sex toys to sedate my lustful cravings? Are you serious?”

“Deadly—Why didn’t you make me any soup?” Sherlock frowned sullenly, eyeing John’s bowl and then snatching the bag from John’s fingers, unloading the objects inside and placing them in short rows. “Two Fleshlights, which are quite fascinating—one is a vagina, and the other is an anus, a female anus, as I wasn’t sure which you’d prefer. I also bought a shower mount for them, because I know how much you masturbate during your showers—”

John leaned back, looking aghast and embarrassed, “Oh God…”

“—A Tenga 3D Zen Male Masturbator, which is basically just a sleeve for your penis. It’s ribbed, do you see? All you need to do is simply turn the sleeve inside out and slip it on.”

“Jesus Christ—Sherlock, stop. Get them off the table. I’m trying to eat and you…you…”

Sherlock pulled out another item with a swagger, “A rechargeable vibrating prostate massager. This was quite expensive.”

John held up his hands, “Sherlock, stop.”

“A vibrating penis cage. Also, and I quote, a “Cock & Ball vibrating cock ring,”” Sherlock read out with a smirk in John’s direction, placing it down and flattening the bag neatly. “These are the top rated sex toys, according to the lovely lady at the shop, whom would not stop shadowing me until I allowed her to assist my choices.”

John covered his face with both hands and leaned on the table with a large groan of awkwardness and exasperation, “Sherlock…”

“And in the package,” Sherlock continued, delving in with a mischievous and complacent expression on his face. “I bought quite the number of lubrication, because there are rather a large quantity of them and I wasn’t entirely sure which would be the best, so I bought all the ones that caught my eye. I also bought some fetish type—”

“What?” John exclaimed, jerking his head up and then grabbing for the box. “Why? Bloody hell, Sherlock, how can you have gone from buying me sweets with romantic phrases on them, to buying me sex toys? What is wrong with you?”

Sherlock’s mouth twisted in-between a pout and a grimace, “You said that you need affection, which I could give you if I set my mind to it; human contact, which I do give you anyway; and sex, which I cannot give you. So, I thought I’d find a way to do so. This is my way.”

“This is a stupid way. A very, very stupid way—not to mention expensive, Jesus Christ!” John ranted, looking at the objects laid out on the table. “You’re taking all this stuff back. Right now. Pack it all away, and take it back.”

“You don’t like any of it?” Sherlock asked, pulling out a few things from the box to show to a horrified looking John. “What about these? Look, nipple clamps with a silver chain; a breathable ball gag, as well as a Jennings gag and a spider gag; a padded leather collar and lead; a whip; a flogger; a paddle; and some rope. I didn’t know your kinks, but I know you have some, so I just covered the basics. There’s more in here, if you want to take a look at your own…leisure.” 

John glared at the suggestive tone and slapped most of the items from Sherlock’s hands and back into the box, “All this will be returned.”

“But this is the perfect way to—”

“No!”

“But, John—”

“No, Sherlock!” John glowered as he sat back to take another spoonful of soup angrily, knocking his teeth when he bit down and disregarded the uncooperative look Sherlock gave him. “You’re taking it all back—how much did you spend?”

Sherlock ignored the question and picked up one of the Fleshlights, “I’m not taking them back.”

John licked soup from his bottom lip and pointed the slicked spoon at Sherlock sternly, “Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not,” Sherlock told him confrontational, packing some of the items away before pausing and scrambling over the table when John stole the paddle from the box. “Wait, John, don’t you dare—Ow!”

John smirked widely as Sherlock pulled his hand back, nursing the red mark, then John stood quickly and walked around to smack Sherlock on the backside with it, spanking him with each word he uttered, following Sherlock around the table, “Take. Them. Back. Now.”

“Ouch—that one stung!” Sherlock protested loudly with a hiss, covering his backside with both hands. “I can’t take that back now, you’ve used it. I can’t very well give back used items—Ah! That was my thigh, John!”

“Fine,” John said as he stalked through to the living room after Sherlock’s retreating back. “I’ll keep this then. Seems useful anyway.”

“They’re all useful,” Sherlock stated, clambering over his chair and then rushing back to the kitchen, making a beeline for his bedroom. John cut him off and with a boyish grin, slapped the paddle just below Sherlock’s buttocks with a sharp and echoing smack, which pushed Sherlock up onto his toes with a gasp.

“I’m definitely keeping this,” John laughed, twirling the paddle in one hand with a lift of his brows as Sherlock glared over his shoulder with a hot blush on his face. “Oh?”

“Shut up,” Sherlock muttered and gestured to the table of toys. “You’re keeping them all. I got them for you so you needn’t have any use for a tedious, oaf of a girlfriend for as long as this…deal, goes on.”

John glanced back at them with a sigh, “All right. I’ll keep them—on one condition,” he said, pointedly eyeing the colour on Sherlock’s cheeks. “I get to try out the fetish stuff on you. Starting with the ball gag.”

“What? No!”

John shrugged and walked back to look over the objects as casually as he could, “Then take them back.”

“You’re just doing this to embarrass and humiliate me because I—”

“You left the receipts? Amateur mistake,” John mumbled with a hint of a smile as he waved the pieces of papers in the air. “And you…you used my credit card? Sherlock!”

“I’ll pay you back,” Sherlock told him with an indifferent wave of his hand.

John nodded seriously, “Yes, you will—Why did you even buy me this fetish rubbish anyway? You really expect me to use a collar and lead on myself?”

“…Yes?”

“I’m not into that,” John said as he looked through the box and slowly pulled out padded handcuffs; vibrating nipple pumps; a leather blindfold; bondage tape; and, most surprising of all, a latex dress and PVC corset. “Sherlock…what the bloody hell are these?”

“I didn’t know if you liked to cross-dress or not—”

“Oh good lord.”

“What? Some people enjoy it, and I wasn’t sure if you were one of them—plus, they’re… nice. And I know you like latex. Don’t even try to deny it,” Sherlock said, running his eyes over the articles of clothing with what looked like interest before he suddenly looked away with a clench of his jaw when he realised his slip. “Like I told you, I covered the basics. That means S&M/BDSM; cross-dressing; foot worship; rubber/latex/leather, which means both the smell and the touch of them; and role-play.”

John looked over at him in disbelief, “…Nice? You think they’re…nice?”

“There’s some leather trousers in there as well, so you needn’t panic. I bought two sets of fetish clothing, one bundle of female clothes, one male,” Sherlock said, looking overly detached. 

Shaking his head, John adjusted his weight, “Did you take my measurements?” 

“I know your measurements.” 

John spluttered, “How?”

“What about foot worship?” Sherlock asked as if John hadn’t spoken, walking over to the box and pulling out a set of fishnet tights, pushing aside a set of lace knickers without batting an eye. 

“Whoa! Hold your horses, what are—?”

“Hm. I thought I unchecked the gimp mask,” Sherlock muttered as he held it aloft and turned it to face John with a playful flicker of his mouth. “Too much? It’s too much, isn’t it? Definitely. And it looks ghastly. Good thing I didn’t accidently pick the dog one…”

John stared at it, blinked at Sherlock’s words, glanced at Sherlock, and then burst out laughing, falling down into a chair. Sherlock chuckled and then turned and twisted the mask with fascination, tugging at the zip at the mouth of the mask with amusement and then moving to pull it on before John stopped him with a red face.

“No! Don’t, please, I don’t think I could handle seeing you with a bloody gimp mask on,” John wheezed, giggling and wrestling it out of Sherlock’s fingers to throw back into the box. “You are the strangest man I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

Sherlock smiled, “Thank you. Does this mean you’ll keep everything?”

“You know what? Sure. Sod it. You only live once, why not live with a box full of sex toys and fetish clothing?” John snorted as he came down from his laughter high.

“Exactly.”

“However, you do realise that most of the fetish stuff won’t get used, right?” John said as he reached over to pick up his bowl of soup, taking another spoonful and then handing the rest over to Sherlock who took it with a smug look in his eyes. “I mean, not to sound like a boring old fart, but I’m not interested in it—and I think it’s best to, you know, do that sort of stuff with someone rather than on your own. Especially the foot worship thing, I mean, why would I worship my own feet? Surely I’d want to worship someone else’s?”

Sherlock conceded with a tip of his head, licking the spoon clean, “Hm. Yes, it does rather defeat the whole purpose of what I was trying to do. I bought you it all so you didn’t need someone else…”

“Perhaps we could gift some of it out to people? As gag gifts? With actual gags in some of them,” John huffed with a cheeky smile as he admired one of the Fleshlights casually. “Though…its such a waste of money—Did you really have to spend so much? And with my card? You’ve got more money than me, you arse. And if you were buying them for me, shouldn’t you have bought them with your own money? It’s like I bought this all for myself!”

“Yours was closest,” Sherlock said around a mouthful of soup and then hummed with satisfaction, sitting down on the edge of the table beside John’s elbow. “You will use the toys, at least?”

John made a face at them, debating and flushing, “I…don’t know. I could. I suppose.”

Sherlock grinned, “Mm. Good. That’s all your needs sorted then,” he murmured, taking another mouthful of soup before he twitched his eyebrows upwards. “Now all you need to do is give me what I need—Oh don’t look so worried, John. You already know what I crave.”

“What do you expect me to do? Go out and commit several crimes for you to solve?”

“No, of course not,” Sherlock scowled. “They’d be way too simple. Would hardly be worth it. Would be tedious as best, abhorrent at worst. You’re terrible at—”

“Okay, enough. I get it. Its not like I’d do that anyway. I was joking.” John muttered, suddenly staring at Sherlock’s knee and reaching out to brush his fingers against it for the rush of calm that followed from the contact. “You know, I…haven’t had…”

“I’m eating,” Sherlock said giving John a bothered guise.

John responded with a tilt of his head, “Should I use the paddle again?”

“You honestly want a kiss a day?” Sherlock asked in complaint. 

“Who said anything about a kiss? A hug would do,” John told him with laughter, rubbing his fingers into the crease of Sherlock’s trousers behind his knee and feeling the heat from the skin beneath with an odd thrill and spark of stimulation. He cleared his throat loudly and stood to be at head level with Sherlock with a clench of anxiety that he didn’t let show. 

“Kisses are quicker,” Sherlock declared, already angling his head when John swayed forwards and connected their mouths.

John enjoyed the taste of the soup with a smile and pulled back an inch, keeping his eyes lowered, “Not really. Kisses can last a pretty long time…”

“A hug it is then,” Sherlock murmured against John’s lips, reacting with minimal objection when John kissed him again, deepening it instantly, only to have Sherlock respond and lean into him.

They kissed until the sound of their lips slipping and smearing over one another was loud in the otherwise quiet kitchen, and John breathed hotly over Sherlock’s chin, delving one hand into his hair with a passionate and eager throb of his heart, which pushed heat through his veins and stirred the confusion and panic awaiting in the back of his mind. John paused briefly and clenched his jaw, then resolutely opened his mouth to glide his tongue up alongside Sherlock’s own, moaning silently when Sherlock yielded and then responded. Sherlock’s lips were warm, wet and plump from their ministrations, and the stubble on both of their faces scraped together as John gripped the soft hair at Sherlock’s nape and pulled him closer. Sherlock grunted softly and then tensed and flailed, dropping the bowl of soup to the floor with a smash.

“I’m falling,” Sherlock muttered into John’s mouth.

John blinked open his eyes, glanced at the shattered bowl and split soup, and frowned dazedly, “What?”

“The table. I’m falling off the—grab me!”

John jolted and caught Sherlock in his arms with a groan through his gritted teeth, hefting Sherlock up and away as he tittered dangerously on the edge of the table. Sherlock huffed and fell into him, then trod on John’s foot as he righted himself, looking back briefly.

“Sorry. I… wasn’t fully sitting on it, so I lost my balance—” Sherlock trailed off into a muffled breath when John kissed him again effortlessly, capturing Sherlock’s face in his hands. “John…John!”

“Three more minutes,” John mumbled in reply, yanking Sherlock down by the neck to reaffirm the kiss until Sherlock wrenched himself away. “Just a little longer…”

“No,” Sherlock scowled, wiping his mouth and then tapping John’s chest sternly. “You’ve had your stupid kiss. Tea. Make me some. I deserve it after all I’ve done for you today.”

“What? Bought a bunch of sex toys and clothes with my money? Oh, yeah, brilliant. I’m ever so pleased,” John countered, waiting for Sherlock to pucker his lips in disapproval and then reattaching their mouths with a sigh, grinning when Sherlock caved and pushed up against him a little, nudging their feet together. “You should have made me a personal mould of your mouth—wait, I’m giving you ideas. Forget I said anything. Don’t do that. I prefer the real thing…sometimes…”

Sherlock turned his head away looking thoughtful for a second before he shook his head, “I’m not entirely sure if you can do that anyway. Only personal casts I saw were for genitals.”

John laughed against Sherlock’s cheek and kissed him one last time, leaning back, “I better clean that mess up and pack away my new sex toys.” He said, stepping over to get the dustpan and brush from the nearby cupboard. “And when I say, “pack away” I really mean, hide away.”

“Of course,” Sherlock said under his breath with a grin.

“I mean it.”

“Hm.”

“I do!” 

Sherlock winked brazenly and dodged the brush that John swatted his way, “We’ll see.”


	4. Flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The site I used for the meanings is [here](http://www.sarahjanecovey.co.uk/flower-meanings)
> 
> I'm sure there are a range of different meanings but I chose these ones!

Sherlock stood up as soon as John stepped in from the landing and thrust a huge bouquet of flowers under John’s nose with a blank look and a tilt of his head, his eyes narrowed and darting and shifting with focus from John’s head to his shoes, “Here.”

Surprised and flustered, John stumbled sideways into the doorframe and grabbed for the flowers unconsciously, “What…?”

“Flowers,” Sherlock stated. “For you. From me.”

“Why?” John asked, frowning over at Sherlock in impulsive suspicion, looking around. “What have you done?”

Sherlock frowned, “Done?”

“You must have done something, otherwise why would you buy me flowers—they aren’t sprinkled with some sort of…something, are they?” John mumbled, holding them out at arms length and then finally looking properly at the bouquet with a furrowed brow, searching the petals and stems and leaves. “What…sort of bouquet of flowers is this?”

“Mine. It’s my sort of bouquet,” Sherlock replied, looking insulted. “And no, they’re not sprinkled with anything. Really, John. I learned my lesson the last time—I bought them because that’s what people do, is it not? Flowers? It shows affection. You want affection.”

“Yours? Your bouquet?” John repeated, glancing between it and Sherlock and back.

Sherlock lifted his chin and looked down his nose at John, “Yes. I made the bouquet. I picked the flowers to go into it. I arranged them how I wanted them and… tied them up with ribbon. For you.”

John blinked, shifted his weight, and huffed with a growing smile as he eyed the mismatched bouquet with a warm burst of fondness, “Right. Well. Thank you. I…I mean, that’s really nice of you, Sherlock.”

“But?”

“Hm? No, no but.”

Sherlock looked at him as if John should know better than to try and lie, “What is it?”

“It’s…just a bit weird,” John laughed. “Not the bouquet—although it is a bit bizarre, I mean, is that holly?”

“Get to the point.”

John sighed but his smile remained, in fact it grew wider at Sherlock’s posture, “You’ve done things out of order.”

Sherlock blinked and looked around in a way that conveyed his confusion, “…Out of order.”

“Yeah. Sort of. I mean, it normally goes; flowers; chocolates or sweets; and then…later on down the line…then it’s sex toys and the lark. Possibly. Depending on the person you’re with.” John said and touched one of the flowers with a swell of exhilaration. “I once had a girlfriend who—”

“You’re not “with” me, John,” Sherlock interrupted with distaste. “There is no order for this. It’s not as though I’m trying to woo you. These flowers have nothing to do with anything so banal!”

“That’s not what I was—look, forget it. I was…just…teasing” John sputtered. “I…I love the bouquet. Thank you. It’s very…unique.” 

Sherlock nodded contentedly, “Good. It’s meant to be. I picked the flowers that most strongly represented our friendship.”

John trailed after him as Sherlock walked into the kitchen to bend over the microscope set up on the kitchen table, “Wait, all the flowers have meaning?”

“Yes, of course,” Sherlock answered bluntly. “Obviously.”

“Even the holly?”

“Especially, the holly.”

John nudged Sherlock with his elbow gently, “Tell me?”

“About all of them?” Sherlock complained with a put-upon expression. “Even the ribbon?”

John touched the ribbon in question, running his fingernail over it and looked at Sherlock through the bouquet, “Does the…ribbon have meaning?”

“Yes,” Sherlock stressed, stepping away from the microscope to stand before John, squashing the bouquet between their bodies a little. “Everything about this has meaning. The entire thing altogether means something, and every piece individually means something.”

The desire to kiss Sherlock was strong, almost overwhelming, but John pushed it down, “Okay. Well…tell me. I’m listening.”

Sherlock took a deep breath, exuding frustration, and pointed, “[Achillea](http://mygardenonline.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/Yarrow.jpg), means elegance and friendship—”

“Wait, how do you know this?” John asked.

“The woman at the shop told me—whether what she said is correct or not, is not my problem. It’s something I frankly could not be bothered to double check.”

John lowered the bouquet to look at him properly, “You always double check.”

Sherlock’s jaw tightened and jumped when he rolled his eyes, “There are a lot of meanings for each flower. Some common, some not so. Different countries may have different opinions on the meaning of a flower, as well as any singular person. Sometimes they mean different things depending on the season, or an event, or even a holiday. Some have religious significance—what I’m trying to say is, I was told by the charming Sixty year old woman at the shop the meanings for these flowers and I saw the same meanings on some UK site, and so I’m sticking to them. I shan’t get into the entire palaver of what other people think.”

“All right,” John laughed, his cheeks hurting from how wide he’d been smiling throughout Sherlock’s rambling. “Go on then.”

“I’ll do it all alphabetically,” Sherlock stated as he pointed again to the Achillea. “So, elegance and friendship. This is a white [Chrysanthemum](http://www.mzephotos.com/images/flowers/chrysanthemum-white.jpg), which means truth and trust; [Freesia](http://plantsrescue.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Freesia-refracta-cultivars.jpg), which is innocence, trust and friendship; [Gerbera](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/5f/Gerbera_farben.JPG), happiness and cheerfulness; [Heather](http://wallpaperhdwide.com/wp-content/gallery/heather-flower-pictures/heatherflowers1.jpg), good luck, protection, admiration and solitude; [Holly](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/85/Holly_Flower_-_geograph.org.uk_-_440913.jpg), foresight, domestic happiness and defence; [Kalanchoe](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/67/Kalanchoe.blossfeldiana.jpg), endurance and lasting affection; [Lisianthus](http://www.burpee.com/images/product/prod000254/prod000254_lg.jpg), appreciation; [Miniature Rose](http://www.davidhuntergardencenters.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/Rose-Miniature-Raspberry-Punch.jpg), which I was told means “always remember;” [Phlox](http://www.gardencentrekoeman.co.uk/db/products/1322648621Phlox_Paniculata__natascha.jpg), “our souls are united;” [Primrose](http://wildflowerfinder.org.uk/Flowers/P/Primrose/Primrose_2007_04_19_Chirk_Pontcysylte_CraigYDduallt_Trevor_066p1.jpg), “I cannot live without you;” [Rhododendron](http://www.rhodoland.nl/fotos2/rhododendron_sun_fire_1.jpg), fascination; a mix of [white and red Roses](http://www.flowersngiftonline.com/images/18%20red%20n%20white%20rose.jpg), means unity; and a [Snowdrop](http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/02138/snowdrop_2138469b.jpg), which is consolation and hope.”

John cleared his throat and took a deep breath, looking down coyly, “And…the ribbon?

“The colour of the ribbon has meaning, yes. I did ask if the material meant anything, but…” Sherlock shrugged and then reached out to slide his fingers over a curl of the ribbon. “[Blue](http://www.colour-affects.co.uk/psychological-properties-of-colours) is meant to be intellectual. There are two sides to the colour, as there are with many other colours, clearly. The positive side of blue is intelligence, communication, trust, efficiency, serenity, duty, logic, coolness, reflection and calm. Whereas the negative is coldness, aloofness, lack of emotion, and unfriendliness. Obviously I picked it for the positive, not the negative, I just thought you’d like to know both—”

“Thank you,” John beamed, feeling emotion swell in his chest and shudder down his body to warm his extremities. “I…I really mean it. I’m…I’m blown away. I love it, Sherlock. I’ll…go put them in water...”

Sherlock nodded with a small smile and turned to go back to his experiment, but John grabbed him by the arm, put the bouquet down on the kitchen table, and arched up on his feet to kiss Sherlock with a shaking breath. Sherlock stumbled back in surprise and disconnected their mouths to blink rapidly down at him; however John followed, pushing Sherlock gently up against a wall to kiss him again, tugging Sherlock down by his neck insistently. The build up of emotion burst in a flood of aching heat and John moaned lowly, crowding Sherlock further into the wall to deepen the kiss and thread his fingers into Sherlock’s hair.

The kiss lasted longer than any other of the kisses prior, and John pulled Sherlock in against him with a ragged sound that made Sherlock tremble and turn his head away. John angled his own head, smeared his mouth down the length of Sherlock’s throat and kissed the skin at the junction of neck and shoulder, twice, before he gave into an uncontainable urge to suck and bite down. Sherlock jerked with a gasp and gripped John’s arms tightly in response, and John groaned.

When he finally pulled back, they were both heavily breathing and the mark on Sherlock’s neck was dark red and glistening with salvia. Sherlock tilted his head to look down at him and John swallowed, unable to speak.

“No wonder people buy others flowers,” Sherlock murmured hoarsely. 

John snorted and licked his lips nervously, “Yeah. I…sorry about…that. I don’t know where that came from—it’s, um, easily hidden though, so that’s…that’s good.”

Sherlock gazed at him shrewdly, “…You want to kiss me again.”

“Yeah…yeah,” John whispered, incapable of looking away. “It’s…it’s good. I mean, it helps…I don’t feel so…so…” 

“Hm,” Sherlock hummed deeply, shifting against the wall and then pushing John away.

“I…I know it’s stupid and…weird and—I’m not gay,” John spluttered as he moved back and picked up the bouquet, squeezing the stems in his hands anxiously. Sherlock seemed to ignore him and walked away into the living room, sitting down on the settee, and John grimaced and searched the cupboards, pulling one of Sherlock’s scientific beakers down to fill with water.

The flowers rustled as he arranged them and found a packet of some sort of flower food taped to the ribbon. Tearing into it, John squeezed the contents into the water and then placed the beaker with the flowers in on the kitchen table, then on the kitchen counter, before he shook his head and walked into the sitting room to place them on the mantelpiece. 

John stepped back and smiled, glancing over at Sherlock, “What do you think?”

“I don’t rightly care where you put them, John,” Sherlock drawled and then inclined his head in a gesture that made John’s stomach flip. “Come here, then.”

“What?”

Sherlock sighed and patted the space beside him patronisingly, “Sit.”

With a soft glare, John walked over and sat down, failing not to stare at the mark he’d left on Sherlock’s skin, “What?”

“What do you think?” Sherlock huffed and stared at John casually until John lifted his eyebrows, twisted to face him, and pulled him down for another kiss. 

Sherlock allowed John to control the kiss and reposition them both against the settee, and John kissed first Sherlock’s bottom lip, then his top lip, mapping the curves and lines of Sherlock’s mouth with his mouth and then his tongue. Sherlock’s hands twitched and then lifted from where they’d been resting in Sherlock’s lap, and brushed the side of John’s face and neck; the touch shot intense arousal through John and he groaned, pushing into and then over Sherlock, turning the kiss passionate and messy.

“John…John, I…” Sherlock started, words muffled into John’s mouth and hands moulding to John’s jaw and shoulder. “Not here for that, remember? I bought you those toys so you could—”

“Stop talking,” John growled breathlessly, tilting Sherlock’s head up into each and every wet press of lips. “More kissing.”

“Yes…but, you…John—your erection is digging into my hip,” Sherlock complained when John adjusted himself and dragged his teeth over Sherlock’s lower lip. “John, it’s…quite uncomfortable.”

“Ignore it,” John said quietly and struggled to contain a wild smile as their kissing continued.

Sherlock scowled and fidgeted, “I can’t!” he protested. “It’s rather… incessant.” 

John pulled back with a sigh and blushed as he glanced down, “Right…shit…sorry.”

Sherlock sat up a little straighter and eyed John’s face, “For goodness sake. John, stop, fretting, or whatever it is you’re doing,” he groused and stood up, smoothing out his clothes. “Just go play with your—”

“Shut up,” John grumbled in embarrassment, covering his face and then pushing to his feet. “I’ve not used any of that…stuff that you bought me. I told you. It won’t get used. I’ve…put it…away.”

“Hm-mm,” Sherlock replied with a smirk and an arching of his eyebrows. John stared at the redness of Sherlock’s lips awkwardly. 

“Come here,” John exhaled, grabbing for Sherlock’s wrist and pulling him over. “I’ve not done…I…um…”

“You’re so needy.”

“No, I’m not!”

“You really are—those flowers weren’t enough? Now I have to do other…things, too? I spent at least two hours doing that stupid bouquet and you just shove it on the mantel,” Sherlock whinged as John brought him in close, cupped his face and pressed their mouths together again. “Can’t we hug, instead? Isn’t that what you’re always insisting?” 

John laughed against Sherlock’s lips, “Yeah,” he murmured, kissing Sherlock slowly and then opening his mouth to deepen it quickly when Sherlock bent down and touched John’s waist with his hands.

“…Is there a way to bypass this?” Sherlock said into John’s mouth, making John snort with laughter. “Do you really need the kissing? Think about it.”

John pushed his lips against Sherlock’s eagerly with an arousing moist sound, four times in a row, and then stepped back, patting his shoulder, “…The flowers, are great. I’ve…actually never received flowers before. Not for…you know…anything good. Normally the flowers come when something bad has happened and people just…don’t know what to do or give you.”

Sherlock nodded, “Yes. Well. Good. I’m glad.”

“You’re only glad because you don’t have to do it again.”

“Yes,” Sherlock smiled. “I have a checklist.”

John took Sherlock’s hands in his softly without much thought, “I don’t doubt it.”

“It’s interestingly small,” Sherlock continued whilst John turned and stroked his hands. “Although, I may make it bigger. Depends on you.”

“Me?”

“Do you like being surprised? The sweets, the toys, the flowers; they surprised you? Did you like it?”

John grinned and entwined their fingers, “Yeah. Yes. Very much.” 

Sherlock nodded, “Good. More surprises then. Great. Good. Fine.”

“You don’t have to though,” John told him, swinging their hands a bit and then stopping, feeling immature. “I told you. Hugs and…and stuff…that’ll do me.”

“But you do like what I—?”

“Yes!” John rushed to amend, looking up into Sherlock’s face and wanting to kiss him again almost immediately. “Yes. I…I do like it. I mean, it’s nice to know that you’re…you know, thinking about me and that you care enough to…to do these things.”

Sherlock nodded and frowned with a confused smile, “So…what’s the problem?”

“No problem…I…I just don’t want to force you into—”

“You are so frustrating,” Sherlock groaned.

John snorted, “Me? I’m frustrating?”

“Yes!”

John dropped Sherlock’s hands and pointed at him instead, “You’re the frustrating one! You…you and your…cheekbones and…hair and…know-it-all attitude!” 

Sherlock blinked and swatted John’s finger aside, “I can’t help it if people are idiots.”

“You’re an idiot!”

“And what’s frustrating about my hair?” Sherlock asked in puzzlement as he touched it and moved to look in the mirror. “It’s normal hair. It’s my hair. What’s so frustrating about it?”

John waved his arms animatedly and strolled over to ruffle one hand through it, “It’s just…always so perfect and wavy and puffy and just bounces into place—”

“Puffy?”

“—what do you put in it? What do you do with it? Is this why you take ages in the bathroom? Are you…I don’t know, putting it into curlers or something? What product do you use? It’s like satin!” John exclaimed as he combed his fingers through Sherlock’s hair repeatedly and then grasped a handful of it. “It’s just so…bloody…perfect!”

Sherlock scoffed and wrestled John’s hand away, “It is just hair!”

John mussed his fingers through it as Sherlock tried to push his hands away, and then grinned when Sherlock glared huffily, “What’s that face for? It’ll only just fall gracefully into place afterwards, as if nothing happened.”

“Stop touching my hair.”

“No.”

“Stop!” Sherlock said, unable to stop a laugh from bubbling. “I can’t help that my hair is the way it is, John.”

John shrugged and carried on threading his fingers through the curls, tugging Sherlock toward him, “I know…”

“No. No more kissing,” Sherlock murmured just before John closed the gap between them. “You are obsessed.”

“It’s just nice,” John sighed, stepping away fully and then turning to enter the kitchen to put the kettle on. He felt uneasy and panic-stricken as Sherlock’s words echoed around his head. John knew that their relationship was shifting after everything that had happened, and John knew he really shouldn’t want to kiss Sherlock as much and as often as he did. The arousal was another panic inducing problem, something John found was increasing with fortitude day after day, and he gripped the kitchen counter in intense anxiety; until Sherlock walked over and kneaded his arm warmly, easing it almost instantly.

“I want a coffee.” Sherlock rumbled.

“You’re getting tea.”

“…I did buy you flowers. And with my own money this time. And I spent an immense amount of time picking each and every—”

“Fine! Coffee it is!”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback fuels me!


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